


Will It?

by whorror_jpeg



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Choking, Crying, Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 14:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16451393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorror_jpeg/pseuds/whorror_jpeg
Summary: In which Michael Langdon has time with his lover.I didn't have a particular era for him in this, it's just him.





	Will It?

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted,,,, gay michael,,, and couldn't find any,,, so my thirsty ass self made one. just,,,, lemme have this.

There was a certain satisfaction to making a being as strong as him give needy gasps and bitchy moans while holding his hips down as he gave over complete control. Overstimulation of the senses, the body, had him quaking and nearly in tears. It was _beautiful_.

Fresh sex singed the room, overbearing its natural scent and the candles gave a deep, dim, orange glow to the room, making his skin look so much more earthy and tan. Breaths and gasps, grunts and moans, sticking wet skin, all accompanied by the feeling of bodies pressed together and heat and sweat and the taste of sweet sin, Michael Langdon.

His body arched and shook as your mouth and hand were working on his cock, free hand holding his needy hips down, cum spread beautifully all over his pretty little tummy in thick, creamy, sticky doses.

“Please, _please_ ,” he begs, hips attempting to buck, wanting more than you’d allow. You sucked on his cock long and hard before popping off of him, his cock’s head red and weeping.

You stood fully, your own dick wanting attention as it stood in the air, hard and twitching from the cool air that allowed enough room for recovery from the heat.

“You’re so pretty when you beg, baby,” you give lowly, running a hand over his chest before gripping his waist with strong arms, pulling his spent body closer to the edge of the bed.

Michael ran his fingers through your hair as you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his nose, his forehead.

Anywhere and everywhere to let him know he _rules_ you, even in this moment, and that you _love_ him for it, you don’t have to ask if he feels the same.

Michael Langdon did not have an interest in sex, until you. Intertwining souls like this weren’t just light-work. It was heavy, connecting two minds, you could feel how bad he wanted you inside of him, hear how he was only living in this moment, how his mind went blank when you touched him, when you kissed him.

He moaned lightly when you finally kissed him, gripping the back of your neck, with need as your hand traced his figure, his skin jolting here and there as you teased the promise of release.

You straighten up and grab his hips at a bruising force, dragging him off the bed and to his knees, faced with your hard cock. Michael looks at you through his lashes before wrapping his lips around the head, sucking on it, almost skittishly. Your hand pets his jaw before reaching behind to the back of his head as he bobbed at a steady and deep pace, a searing heat controlled by him coiled in your stomach, moans falling from your lips autonomous from your mind.

“Nnngh, you’re so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock, baby boy.” you groaned, vibrations encasing your shaft as he gave a moan. His hands rested against your hips as you gripped his hair, pushing faster than what he was giving. He knew he was being used; that made it all the more exciting for him, his hands dropping so you could buck into his mouth. Michael wasn’t like anyone, the less he could actually breathe the more he wanted to cum. He choked, taking in your cock so nicely before you pulled him off, his complaining noise giving you justified cause to stick your fingers in his mouth with a low growl, and heaven must have sighed when he did as you turned him around, it made your hips jut forward, grinding against his ass. He chuckled around your fingers, to which you responded snappily with a hand gripping his throat and a “Shut it, Chuckles.”

He laughs again anyway. You know what game he’s playing; see how you’ll take care of him, how you’ll make him submit completely.

His laugh bled into another moan as he sucked harder on your fingers and pushed his hips back against yours. Pulling your fingers out, you moved his head back and kissed him, pushing his ass apart and playing around his hole, “As much as I’d love to see you swallow, I’d rather loadout in your ass.”

He gave a mewl and nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and like the good boy he is, he bent over the bed, hands to his chest and chest to the satin sheets as he looked back at you, mouth agape and eyes begging. You grabbed his ass, biting his right cheek and pushing your finger in through its first knuckle. The squeals of this part of playing always made your dick twitch delightfully.

“Please, (Y/N), _please_ fuck me, please? I’ve been good for you, I-”

His eyes were welled with thicker tears that threatened to spill, and you gave him a sharp smack on his ass, causing those tears to finally fall and a desperate, pleading moan erupt from his chest, breaking through his voice and giving the sound a crack. You laugh.

You push a second finger in his ass, whispering, “Shhh, you have to relax, baby.”

He nods, and you can feel him physically cave into your fingers as his chest hits the bed again, ass hiked more in the air.

You scissor him and curl in on his prostate, just to give him _something_. And it’s almost worth it, the broken moan, the back arch, the squeezing of his walls around your fingers. _Almost_. You needed to actually be touched, not these empathic phantom touches you got that made your knees nearly collapse and hips tick.

You pulled your digits out, quickly replacing it with your cock slowly and gently, hissing through as you feel Michael try to relax more for you.

_He’s so tight._

_He’s so perfect._

_He’s so **fucking** beautiful. _

You run your hand over the tanned skin of his back as you slot your hips fully against his ass. It’s a process. Getting him to open up to you, both physically and emotionally. But like this, there’s no barrier. You know he loves you because he’s saying it in his thoughts, echoes of his voice in your mind, and you know _he knows_ you love him because he can hear the same thing and it makes him smile through the pleasure tears and he sits up on his hands, elbows slightly bent as he tries his best to meet your lazy thrusts. You lean down and press kisses to his shoulder blades, wet with sweat, a hand gripping his hip and the other running along his stomach and ribs and chest and you have to keep reminding him in your mind that he is absolutely _astounding_ with every crevice of his being… _because he thinks otherwise._ And even now, you can hear those deep thoughts in the back of his head, even as he moans your name needy and wantonly, standing to press his back against your chest and turn his head to kiss you deeply. His hands gain leverage in your hair and pull oh-so-gently as you give a growl, hand leaving his abdomen to find purchase on his cock, red and needy and saturated with precum, you fist it, and his hips spasm, not knowing where to buck because _it’s all so much_ for him.

“(Y/N),” his moan is so breathy and he repeats your name so many times in different ways, the only thing consistent being his need and love. His head is now tossed on your shoulder, and your lips lock on his throat. You can feel the vibrations from his vocal cords, verging on breaking, you can feel him swallow even though he’s dehydrated.

“Say it.” You demand. And he knows, you ask him to every time. Words that he only keeps for the people he cares for; Ms. Mead, Constance, You. And most of them, are gone.

“I love you.” He whispers in your ear, voice raspy and broken. It isn’t enough.

“Louder, say it louder.” You pant, pace quickening and hips stuttering with a search of a promised climax.

“I love you, fuck.”

“Louder.”

“I swear I fucking love you, (Y/N)!” He yells, and you cum, hand _sticky_ and _wet_ and _so warm_ from his own climax.

You pant and pull out of him with a kiss to his jaw, petting back his damp hair from his forehead, leaning back and watching your cum slide out of him in thick heaps, coating his thighs.

“Stay here.” You whisper, he nods in response, his hands stabilizing on the bed as you went to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and coming back, kneeling in front of him. You kissed his knee as you ran the cloth up the inside of his thigh, his hands lovingly running through your hair, making you look up. You press your lips to his hipbone, making him sigh with a small smile. You finished him, reveling in the hiss and small quiver of his hips, knowing _you_ did that.

You ran your hands up the frame of his body after tossing the used cloth, pecking his stomach, pectoral, neck, jaw, cheek, lips.

The two of you laid together on your sides, facing each other; your hand on his hip and his on your cheek, legs intertwined with one another, bodies under sheets that offered cool comfort away from the sweaty and hot haze of actions previous.

And you think to yourself, _this will all be okay._

_“It will.”_


End file.
